


Hand in Hand

by BarPurple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Belle's hands had always intrigued him.





	Hand in Hand

Rumple had always been fascinated by Belle’s hands. He’d first noticed them in Maurice’s castle curled protectively around a book. Such delicate little hands clutching to a book of noble and heroic ideals.

At the time he had only noticed because it was in his nature to notice what people clung to; had to know what was precious to them in order to make a deal. Seeing them curling into fists of defiance when he’d named her as his price had made him twitter and giggle, here was a spoiled little princess with spirit, and spirit could be broken by a beast.

He’d never been more wrong in his long life.

Belle’s hands were small and delicate, but they were strong. Not a crude or brutish strength, but a gentle and caring one, much like Belle herself.

He’d seen her hands tremble in fear because of his careless quips, and while still shaking cradle a chipped cup as if it was a tiny wounded animal. Her thumbs gently stroking over the damaged porcelain had distracted him so greatly that he’d not raged at her carelessness.

He’d seen her hands chapped and raw from the chores he’d set her and the satisfaction he’d expected to feel had not been as enjoyable as anticipated. The red cracked skin had looked painful and wrong for her elegant hands. Belle had thanked him for the soothing balm he had given her, he’d dismissed her words with a crass comment about not want her to ooze into his food, but only after her once again soft fingers had brushed against his. It became a guilty pleasure to watch unseen from the shadows when she rubbed the balm into her hands, one he only felt a touch of shame for indulging in.

Her little fingers had wagged in his face and poked him in the chest when she’d felt irked by his actions. Those same small fingers had squeezed his shoulders and brushed the back of his neck when she was pleased with him. It had terrified him, no fairy wand or wizard’s staff held such power over him, but Belle’s slender digits could stir emotions in him that he’d long thought overcome. He tried to keep a balance between provoking her displeasure and approval, for surely, he couldn’t have one without the other. The price he paid for her fleeting touches was being the beast that put a frown upon her face.

And then they were gone. Sent away by his fear and self-loathing. They were out of sight, but never out of mind. Like phantom birds the memory of them alighted on his shoulders on the odd occasion he was kind. From the corner of his eye he’d catch a glimpse of them excitedly fluttering over the items in his collection. And for twenty-eight long years he dreamed of them broken, pale and lifeless without remembering whose hands they were, or why they haunted him so.

 

By some miracle she was back like an impossible phoenix, the warmth of lifeblood beating under the grimy skin of her hands, hands that he hardly dared to touch, but could not keep his eyes from. 

He delighted in every little touch Belle bestowed upon him, each brush from her fingers and squeeze from her hand reminding him that she was here, she was real and as impossible as it still felt, she loved him.

That night as she slept, he lay awake by her side and gently stroked her hand. He traced up and down each finger in turn, circled her knuckles with his fingertip. When she shifted in her sleep and revealed her palm to him he followed the lines of fortune written there and compared them to his own. In the moonlight he fancied he could see the point of their first meeting etched upon both of their hands.

Rumple smiled as Belle wrapped her fingers around his hand. Her hold on him stopped his tactile exploration of her hand, but their fingers lightly woven together was perfect. He finally drifted into sleep safely anchored by her delicate and strong hand.


End file.
